


Nemesis

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [33]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Gabriel is an ass, Gen, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Temporary Amnesia, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: A ghost comes back from the past to haunt Crowley and Aziraphale, with dreadful consequences.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley & Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 81
Kudos: 152
Collections: Good Omens Amnesia Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, what a surprise, angst is back!!!  
> Ready for a little whump, my friends?^^

London, 1947.

The night was warm and the little cafe terrace was almost deserted, only one table occupied, near the banister overlooking the Thames. A demon and an angel were drinking and remembering old adventures.

“And then he told me he wouldn’t have done it without me!” ended Crowley, eliciting a snigger from the angel on the opposite chair.

“Didn’t he understand you were the one who had stolen the documents in the first place?” asked Aziraphale, taking a sip of wine.

“No! And what’s even funnier, he didn’t make the connection when his surprise attack was blocked! Never understood how his enemies had the information! He asked _me_ if I had a theory!”

The angel chuckled. “Oh, please tell me you made it religious.”

Crowley nodded frantically, grinning. “Of course I made it religious! Told him the Gods had warned Sun Zi of the attack, and that meant he had to abandon the fight. Easiest temptation I ever did.”

Aziraphale finished his glass and shook his head in disbelief. “Why did Hell assign you to this battle anyway? I met Sun Zi, he didn’t need any help to win, your prey was doomed the instant he decided to attack.”

“I know, angel, that’s why I’m saying it was easy. Honestly, it was like stealing candies from a toddler. Got me a commendation thirty years later.”

His friend tilted his head, smiling slightly, waiting for more. Commendations usually didn’t take thirty years to arrive. Crowley took a deep breath, holding back a large grin.

“They thought I stayed with Sun Zi and helped him for all his career after that!” he declared, wide eyed. Both entities started giggling.

“I knew it,” declared a strange voice somewhere near them. Aziraphale froze. Crowley jumped out of his chair and crouched near the banister, ready to flee. The bottles on the table replenished themselves in seconds.

A silhouette walked out of the shadows, and Crowley’s eyes shot to their hands. This was a very scary looking blade. Aziraphale slowly got on his feet, eyeing the newcomer.

“Anatiel,” he greeted. “I didn’t know you were coming to Earth.”

“Obviously,” answered the other angel with a sneer. “Or you wouldn’t have consorted with the enemy in plain sight. You will be dealt with later upstairs, traitor. Firstly, I will take care of the demon. Step away.” She raised her free hand, palm up, conjuring Grace directly from the purest source.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to Crowley’s, and there was no need for him to talk to make himself understood. _Get out of here. Run._

Crowley ran.

He turned right into an alley and ran, experiencing the awful sensation of Divine Energy being pulled down from Heaven, then turned right again as he heard the awful cry, and turned one last time to arrive in Anatiel’s back, Hellfire in his palm, ready to strike...

Anatiel’s body fell to the floor, and time froze. Crowley couldn’t steer his eyes away from the lifeless angelic face, even if he wanted to more than anything in the world. A clatter made him startle as his friend dropped the metallic rod he’d ripped from the banister. The flames died down on the makeshift weapon.

“Aziraphale...” he murmured, cold dread hitting him like a tide. “Aziraphale, what have you...”

“Get out, Crowley, you can’t stay here!” pressed his friend, taking a step forward. Crowley’s head shot up, and he looked at the angel with a haunted expression.

“What have you done? She’s not discorporated!” he stammered, unable to focus on anything else. “You _killed_ her, Aziraphale!”

“They will come to see what happened, Crowley! You have to run away, _now_!” ordered the angel, reaching for his shoulder.

Crowley took a step back, and Aziraphale froze for a second, before slowly pulling his hand back and looking away.

“Go, Crowley. Go as far away as you can. They will destroy you if they find you here,” he said softly.

The demon’s mind finally caught up, gears turning wildly as the enormity of what had happened finally hit him.

“Destroy me? Are you out of your fucking _mind_? You just killed an _angel_!” he yelled. “What do you think they’ll do to _you_?”

“It’s not important! Go away!” implored Aziraphale.

“NOT IMPORTANT? It’s bloody important to _me_ , you jackass!”

They both stared at each other, breathless. Crowley waved a hand. “Step back. I’ll get rid of the body.”

Aziraphale gasped. “They will sense Hellfire! They will know you used it!”

“That’s the point, stupid! They will think a demon destroyed her. End of the story. You won’t be suspected and I’ll probably receive a bloody commendation.”

“But they’ll chase you!”

“Aziraphale, _shut up_! Just shut up, okay? There’s no way I’ll let you die for trying to save my skin!”

The angel stepped back slowly as Crowley summoned Hellfire to burn the body. They both stood still for a minute, looking down, not daring to face each other.

“You should go,” managed Aziraphale, finally. The demon nodded, opened his mouth, shook his head, and disappeared. Time started to run again.

The angel closed his eyes, his face crumpling. Of course Crowley wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him _now_. It was his fault that the demon almost got killed. Aziraphale was the one to suggest that stupid meal together, and all the others over the last few years. He’d been so happy to have his friend back after that dreadful fight over the Holy Water he’d stopped being cautious.

And almost got Crowley killed.

He looked one last time at the mark of Hellfire on the ground, and sighed. Anatiel always had been way too enthusiastic at hunting demons, were they actual ones, or, as she liked to call them, “demons in the making”. More than one angel had been punished because of her _inquiries_. Punished _for the_ _ir_ _own good_ , to help them _get back on the right path_. Her status as Gabriel’s bloodhound had made her overconfident.

Ordering him to step away… like he would watch her destroy his friend without a word. He was a Principality, and sometimes he had the feeling others angels tended to forget that meant he was a _guardian_. She had observed him with Crowley, saw them laugh and drink together, and still believed he would let her hurt the demon without lifting a finger. What an _imbecile_.

He shook his head, snapped his fingers to pay the bill, and prepared to teleport to his bookshop, suddenly feeling very old and tired.

* * *

Crowley paced in his living room for the rest of the night. What an idiot. What a bloody, stupid _moron_! The angel had been right, he’d always been right about being cautious, and did Crowley listen? No! He had to push and push again, tempting his friend into more time together, more inebriated discussion, all that for what? Getting caught red-handed, that’s what!

He buried his face in his hands with a growl of pain. _Fuck_. What if the Hellfire wasn’t enough to convince Heaven? What if Aziraphale was in danger?

He couldn’t go to the bookshop. Too dangerous to be seen near the angel’s territory. Plus… Aziraphale probably wouldn’t want him around from now on. He’d just destroyed his life. The one person who truly trusted him and cared for him since his Fall, and he had to go and make him miserable.

Aziraphale had killed for him. He knew how the angel hated the mere thought of killing, and he’d done it, because of Crowley.

If only he’d ran faster, got there sooner. Or if he hadn’t run at all, and tried to face her and get her before she got him. But _no_ , he had to turn his back on Aziraphale and let him get his hands dirty. What a great _friend_ he made _._

He didn’t know if the angel could forgive him, but he certainly wouldn’t forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it was angsty!!  
> It will get better, I promise (and then it will get worse^^)  
> Happy ending will be there, as always!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels have a good memory. Aziraphale receives an unwelcome visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that more chapters may be required :D

London, 2020

Even the best of relationships have their ups and downs. Sometimes, it doesn’t need a lot to initiate a fight. A passing comment, a moment of inattention, an absent-minded “yes” when the right answer was “no”…

It had been two months since last time, but this was, as Crowley had put it only five seconds ago, and three times in a row, “Not to be borne!”

“You’re a fucking back-stabber, that’s what you are! NO, don’t you _dare_ look at me like that, you won’t get out of this one by looking cute! You _betrayed_ me! This is betrayal! I don’t want to look at you right now, get out of my sight, you deceitful traitor!”

“Really, my dear, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” asked the angel’s calm voice.

“Overreacting? _Overreacting_? _Me_? I beg your _fucking_ pardon, Aziraphale? What do you think you’re looking at, exactly?”

There was a pause, a sigh, then: “A spot, dear.”

“A _spot_ ,” emphasized Crowley, looking around as if addressing a large audience. “Such a large spot that even the _angel_ saw it, you little shits! And you know how he always coddles you! How _dare_ you! You didn’t only fail me, you disappointed Aziraphale!”

Plants shouldn’t be able to appear both terrified and crestfallen at the same time, but these ones did.

“Now, now, Crowley, no need to be rude. Josephine did her best, I am sure. She will be back to her old self in a jiffy, you will see!”

“Josephine will have to tell us goodbye, angel. she’ll be back as fucking fertiliser!” yelled the demon, stomping out of the shop without a care for the startled passers-by.

“Mind how you go, Crowley,” called the angel cheerily, a frustrated groan his only answer.

Aziraphale closed the door with a smile, then turned to the face the shelves. Or, more precisely, the plants scattered amongst the shelves. The green leaves, that had been trembling until now, stilled suddenly.

He shook his head with a loud sigh, his eyes focussing on a particularly luxurious peace lily. “Now listen to me, young lady,” he addressed the plant sternly. “You have been very naughty, and Crowley is unhappy because of you. You will remedy that right away, do you hear me? If he isn’t smiling by tomorrow evening, I assure you I will take the matter into my own hands, and there won’t be anything left of you to _make_ fertiliser!”

With a huff, he headed to the back room to retrieve his tea and his book. The plants stayed still, metaphorically holding their breath. They had learned the hard way that Aziraphale could be bullied and disobeyed as long as their Master was satisfied with them. But the angel didn’t tolerate disrespect towards his friend.

The peace lily’s tiny brown spot turned slightly greener.

The doorbell jingled merrily.

“Back already, my d-”

Aziraphale, mug in hand, stopped dead in the back room's threshold.

“Netzach,” he squeaked. “What a… what a pleasant surprise.”

“Is it true that the demon lives here? Where is he?” asked the stranger. The plants leaned in slightly, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Why do you want to know?” answered Aziraphale carefully.

Netzach straightened “I know it was him. Believe it or not, Michael has been exchanging information with Hell. I found data in her office, Aziraphale. _Hell’s_ data, and your little demonic pet summoned Hellfire in _this_ town the day Anatiel got killed. Of course I came right away. I am here to destroy him!” they intoned righteously. The plants shivered. Destroy their Master? That angel was clearly deranged. Nothing could destroy their demon (didn’t _they_ know that, they tried everything already, to no avail).

“Oh dear,” breathed the angel, so softly only Greg the ficus heard him. “Netzach, really, I assure you you are mistaken. It cannot be Crowley, I know it isn’t him!”

“How could you know that! Did he tell you? Aziraphale, you are so gullible! Demons lie! Everyone knows that!!”

“You would have to _talk_ to a demon to know that,” mumbled the Principality under his breath, making a face, before speaking louder. “Did you ask Raphael’s permission to come here and… destroy Crowley?”

“I don’t need permission! I am an _angel_! Destroying demons is what we _do_ , Aziraphale,” explained Netzach with a patient smile that clearly conveyed that they were talking to a very stupid child. “Now tell me where he is.”

“I will certainly _not_!” cried Aziraphale, incensed.

“Do I have to remind you I am your superior, _Principality_?” growled the other, losing their smile.

“You certainly were, six thousands years ago, before you _renounced_ your status as Principalitie’s Leader. Now if you would be so kind as to get out of my shop!”

“You cannot chase me away! I will avenge our sister! That demon won’t see the sun rise up anymore!” declared Netzach pompously before exiting the shop in a hurry. They weren’t stupid enough to ignore the angry power slowly building in the walls.

“Oh, this is not good at all,” wailed Aziraphale, leaning against the door, his mind reeling. He couldn’t teleport to Crowley, a miracle would lead Netzach directly to their prey. But he couldn’t wait either, it was way too risky. The second Crowley used demonic energy he would be spotted.

“Phone!” yelled the angel, startling twelve plants, a mouse, and a sleeping spider. “He has his phone!”

* * *

London, 1947

The bell jingled.

“We’re closed!” yelled Aziraphale, turning to the door with a thunderous expression to meet the exact same look on his “customer’s” face.

“Why can’t I simply appear in your lodgings?” complained the newcomer with a sneer.

“Netzach,” muttered Aziraphale, wide eyed. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Talking to you, _obviously_ ,” they answered dismissively. “It’s raining outside. Why do I have to suffer the rain to get to _you_?”

Aziraphale fluffed his bowtie, clearing his throat. Netzach was one of the rare beings able to make him feel like an even bigger failure than Gabriel already did.

“Appearing in the bookshop would draw attention. Plus, in warding it against that kind of magic, demons are also unable to-”

“Demons!” exclaimed Netzach, clapping their hands. Aziraphale flinched. “Yes! That’s why I am here. A demon destroyed Anatiel tonight! I have to hunt them, so tell me where your counterpart on Earth is, and I’ll get it over with. Gabriel is furious and I don’t want to have him breathing down my neck for the next millennium.”

“Oh, my… my counterpart, ah… well, Cro… that wily demon, I mean, is… out,” explained Aziraphale in a high pitched voice, wringing his hands.

Netzach raised an eyebrow. “Out?”

“Out… of Earth!” prompter Aziraphale. “I discorporated him, two… two months ago! A mighty battle, I assure you! He almost-”

“Oh, bother,” huffed Netzach, rolling their eyes. “So it was _another_ one? I didn’t need that! Do you have a name? You’re keeping track of demonic activities, right?”

“Of course!” lied Aziraphale, straightening his back righteously. “Of course I do, this is part of my work here! But there has been no sign of demonic activity here lately.”

“A newcomer, huh? Maybe that Crawly guy came back today,” thought the other out loud.

 _Crowley,_ corrected Aziraphale internally, making a face, before realising now was not the time to focus on _names_. “Oh no! No, certainly not. It takes _years_ for him to get another corporation. _Decades_ , sometimes! Can’t be him, that’s for sure.”

Netzach grimaced, then shrugged and opened the door again. “Well, keep an eye open. I will come back if I don’t find them.”

“I will. I will… call you if I find something useful,” declared Aziraphale to the empty shop. He waited a few seconds, tugging on his waistcoat, before darting to his old backelite phone.

“Oh, I do hope he is home,” he murmured worriedly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley didn't expect being hunted down by a Seraph today. He was just aiming for a little mischief and a chocolate box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scene!  
> Awww I love fight scenes!!!

London, 1947.

Crowley picked up at the second ring. “Yes?”

“Crowley! It’s me! Aziraphale!”

The demon rolled his eyes, and since his friend couldn’t see it, sighed for good measure. “I know it’s you, you idiot, I know your voice! You don’t have to present yourself every time you-”

“Yes, yes, this is _fascinating_ , Crowley, and I would _love_ to answer you, as I always do, that politeness dictates visitors shall announce themselves when visiting someone and that the same courtesy should extend to telephone conversations, but we don’t have time for this! This is an emergency!”

There were a lot of things Crowley could have answered to that, the first and most obvious of them being “Then why did you just lost ten seconds arguing, you moron?” but the angel’s voice had an edge he hadn’t heard in a while, and it was enough for him to understand this particular emergency was not of the “I ran out of my favourite blend of tea” kind (which happened quite regularly).

His heart rate sped up uselessly as he remembered the events of the night. “What? Are they here already? Did they suspect you? What happened?”

“Nothing… I mean, something happened but… Oh, Crowley, they sent someone to _hunt_ you! I mean, hunt the demon who...” Aziraphale’s voice trailed out as he thought about the events. They both stayed silent for a minute, suddenly remembering that things had changed between them with Anatiel’s destruction.

“Yeah. Okay. So they don’t know you were there, right?” asked the demon, a little calmer.

Aziraphale huffed in frustration. “No, they do not. Could you stop talking about _me_ for a second! They’re after you, you have to… to hide. Do not use your powers, Crowley, do you hear me?”

The demon frowned. “I have _work_ to do, angel. How long will that… investigator be on Earth?”

“Oh, really? _Now_ you have work? I am talking about your potential destruction and you’re telling me you can’t restrain yourself for a while?” answered the angel in a clipped voice.

Crowley made a face. “Oi! I’ll have you know I am working a lot, me. I’m not spending my days reading bloody Wilde and eating cakes!”

The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line had him grimacing. Maybe the cake thing was a little too much. Indeed, the angel’s answer was so loud he had to move the receiver away from his ear.

“Working **a lot**? Really? You once slept for a whole _century_! And you woke up with a _commendation_!”

Crowley spluttered, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to yell a little more.

“Don’t use your powers! They would track you down in seconds, and they’re far stronger than you! Or me, for that matters! You stay home, and just… take a nap, since you’re so good at this. I’ll manage some temptations to keep your bosses off your back.”

“What? No! Don’t do this, stupid, they’ll sense _you_!” barked Crowley, angrier by the minute. The nap insult had been a low blow.

“My Grace is of divine origin, they won’t care about it. I will call you when the coast is clear again. I am serious, Crowley! If you don’t listen to me, I… I would be most _seriously_ displeased!”

Crowley snarled. “Don’t you _Lady Catherine_ me, Aziraphale! Oi! You hear me?” He looked at the receiver, and gasped in outrage. The angel had hung up on him.

* * *

London, 2020.

“Pick up the phone, Crowley… why aren’t you picking up?” hurried Aziraphale, looking at the receiver as if glaring at it could force his friend to answer. The ringing stopped and was replaced by the demon’s voice.

“Angeeeel! Want me to pick some pastries on my way back? I was thinking chocolates, since I’m near Jeff de Bruges, but I can stop at that little French pastry-”

“Crowley, there is no time for… wait, Jeff de Bruges? I love Jeff de- I mean, don’t use your powers! Someone is here to kill you!”

“Whot?”

“I am coming to join you! Do _not_ move! Did you use your powers at all these last few minutes?” pressed Aziraphale.

“Did I use my… of course I used my bloody powers, I’m a _demon_ , for Satan’s sake, what do you think I was doing, having tea with the bloody queen?” hissed Crowley.

“Oh dear…” sighed the angel in despair. “Crowley, _take shelter_!”

And, well, Crowley loved nothing more than to argue, but he had self-preservation enough to recognise that tone. With a thought, he hid his demonic energy and slid into a nearby furniture and home-decor shop, mingling with the sales-addicted humans.

A second later, a buff looking angel appeared out of nowhere. Crowley gasped.

“Holy fuck… it’s Netzach! What is that creep doing here?”

“This is what I am trying to tell you, Crowley! They are back, and they want to destroy you!”

"They didn't see me yet, I think I can get out unnoticed," whispered the demon as reassuringly as possible before hanging up.

 _I should have seen this coming_ , thought Crowley, pocketing his phone and silently moving towards the back door, making his way against the traffic of shoppers heading towards the cashier. It was way too calm lately, no one had tried to kill them in weeks. _Of course that bloody Netzach would attack us again now!_ Why now? What happened exactly to make him come back? No idea, but Aziraphale was on his way, and he had to get rid of the wanker before his friend arrived. Fighting against a former co-worker would certainly not be a good thing to do now that Heaven was finally off his back.

Crowley slithered through the crowd, aiming for the back door…

“ **I see you, demon!”** yelled a booming voice, and Crowley sprinted without a look back. He was pretty confident he wouldn’t get caught. Netzach was definitely stronger, they were a freaking seraph, but they couldn’t fight him without catching him first, right? And Crowley was very good at not getting caught. It kind of was his speciality.

He was darting around a counter, and had a hand on the door’s handle, when he sensed the rush of power. Eyes wild, he looked back to see his pursuer, hands up over their head, gathering Holy Grace. Between them, humans were trying to run away, frightened by the overwhelming, terrible pressure of energy building up.

Shit! Of course they wouldn’t care about collateral damages! They were an angel, angels didn’t give a shit about _lives_ , right?

Crowley wanted nothing more than to open that door and get the _fuck_ out of range if there was still enough time, but there was a green stroller right next to Netzach, and a stroller meant a human not old enough to have access to free will.

Free will was a wonderful invention, in Crowley’s opinion (of course it was, he kind of invented it after all), and everyone should have a right to it. Particularly if they used it to choose evil.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, you got me, I lost.”

The angel blinked and hesitated for a second. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. Honestly, angels were stupid. He wondered how Aziraphale managed to be that brilliant when all his superiors were so limited.

Netzach was here to kill Crowley, but didn’t know what to do now. Crowley was expecting that reaction. If his collection of western movies (and back to the future 3) had taught him something, it was that. Surrendering always had that effect, even if only for a few moments. And a few moments was all that Crowley needed. A snap of his fingers, and the fire sprinklers suddenly started.

Netzach took a step back, looking up in surprise. A second later they were on their back on the floor, completely wet, a very large cake server protruding from their chest. They stared at the object with some confusion, then looked up at the demon straddling their waist. Crowley had lost his glasses in the tumble, and his eyes were completely yellow as he stared back. Netzach tried to lift his hands, but the demon’s knees were pinning his arms to the floor.

Crowley grinned at the soaking wet Seraph squirming under him. “Don’t get any interesting ideas, I’m only trying to kill you,” he declared, yanking the cake server out with a sickening noise before raising it again with both hands, aiming for the neck.

For Netzach, everything went white.

* * *

London, 1947.

It had been six days, and Crowley hadn’t heard from Aziraphale. He knew the angel was still on Earth (after six thousands years, you tended to get attuned to someone’s presence) but could also sense his growing anxiety, which didn’t bode well. He had tried to call the bookshop several times, to no avail. Obviously, his friend (were they still friend?) avoided answering on purpose. Was Heaven’s bloodhound staying at the bookshop? Or was it something else?

He had thought a lot during these six days. At first, the angel’s phone call had comforted him. Yes, they had yelled at each other, but they always did that. Maybe nothing had changed after all. But as the days passed, he’d slowly revised his opinion. Of course Aziraphale didn’t want him to get destroyed, he would never wish that. But it didn’t change the fact that he had _killed_ because of Crowley, had angelic blood on his hands, and that there was no way he could forget this. Their friendship was over, he was pretty sure of it.

The least he could do now was to wait and keep tabs on Aziraphale’s Grace.

And scare his plants. It was good to have someone to terrify.

The sixth evening, someone knocked on the door while the demon was in his greenery. Crowley startled mid-yelling, only then taking notice of the familiar presence. He looked at the trembling leaves around him.

“This is not over, you little shits!” he threatened before heading rapidly to the door and yanking it open.

“Come in, angel.”

Aziraphale looked exhausted, realised the demon after carefully closing the door. He also looked slightly confused.

“Crowley, what… what happened to you, my dear? You’re covered in dirt!” cried the angel, his hands fluttering as if to reach out to help remove the remaining leaves and shards of clay in the demon’s hair. Crowley saw the hesitation in his friend’s demeanour and tensed. Aziraphale immediately took a step back and clasped his hands in front of him.

 _I was right, h_ _e hates me_ , thought both entities.

“My plants tried to kill me, that’s what,” growled the demon, shooting a scathing glare in the greenery's direction in an attempt to ease the tension.

“Of course not,” huffed the angel. “That unfortunate dear certainly didn’t plan to end up on your head. It’s all broken, poor thing...”

“Don’t pity it! It did it on purpose! They’re all in it together.” grumbled Crowley as he fished his glasses out of his inner pocket to put them firmly on.

They stood awkwardly face to face, Aziraphale looking at his hands and Crowley tapping his fingers against his thigh.

“So,” asked the demon when the silence became truly unbearable. “What are you doing here? Is the… the investigator gone? Back to, you know… headquarters?”

The angel sighed dejectedly. “No, I am afraid not. They are quite resilient. I tried to prove that no demon was on Earth at the moment and that the, ah, assailant must have gone back to Hell, but they seem intent on searching as long as needed.”

“What? Aziraphale, I can’t stay here forever! I will go mad! I will kill my plants, I swear!” he yelled. “If they don’t kill me first,” he added under his breath.

“I know. I think… I think I came up with a solution. But it will be dangerous,” explained the angel in a soft voice, still looking at his hands. Crowley grimaced. This was awful. He should get rid of his friend as fast as possible, before the tension became intolerable.

“Okay, what is it?

Aziraphale finally looked up, his face relaxing a little with the tiniest smile.

“We could get rid of them if you were to die.” he explained calmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone! I spent an entire day on my couch for no reason, and wanted to do nothing but read, eat and sleep. It was great, but absolutely NOT productive. I think my dog is rubbing off on me!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1947\. Crowley and Aziraphale try to get rid of Heaven's bloodhound.  
> Their idea? Give Netzach what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All this chapter takes place in 1947. No 2020 today!!
> 
> In this chapter, our boys are using the bodyswap. For the readers who haven't read "Invocation of a demon", it may appear a little strange since the scene takes place before Armageddon. But I explained in that fic that my versions of Crowley and Aziraphale have already used the swap to avoid Crowley being trapped by humans trying to invoke him, and that's why they thought of it immediately when reading Agne's last prophecy.

Here is the link for "Invocation of a demon" if you want to read it. It's a very short one-shot, and one of my favourite (I laughed a lot writing it^^).

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785092>

London, 1947.

“We could get rid of Netzach if you were to die,” declared the angel with a little smile.

“Die? What do you mean, _die_?” asked Crowley with a frown. He had the feeling he was not going to like this conversation. He wasn’t a big fan of the ‘dying’ concept. Not applied to himself at least.

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, not _you_ , exactly, but a demon. We need to give Netzach what they are looking for, or they will never leave. They can be quite stubborn, you know.”

“No way? A stubborn angel? I am _flabbergasted_!” exclaimed the demon, a hand shooting to his heart in mock shock. His friend sent him a withering glare. Crowley refrained a chuckle and raised a hand.

“All right, angel, all right. What do you propose exactly? Stage a killing?”

“Exactly. Netzach will smite a demon to death and be satisfied, and we will be rid of them. Everybody wins.”

Crowley could already see a lot of flaws in this perfect plan. He decided to start with pointing the obvious. “Except I can’t survive a Seraph’s smiting, Aziraphale. They’re way too powerful for me...”

“But _I_ can stand it, my dear. Grace won’t hurt me. We will have to exchange our corporations.”

Crowley grimaced. _Of bloody course._

* * *

The park was deserted at this time of night, and even the ducks had understood that their usual friends weren’t there to chat. After the third attempt at quacking for bread and the third demonic swearing, they had gone back to sleep, heads held high. Crowley had the feeling he was in for the cold shoulder (wing?) treatment next time he came.

“Ready, my dear?” asked the angel, outstretching his hand.

“Yeah, yeah… let’s get this over with,” grumbled Crowley, taking it with a pout.

Aziraphale smiled indulgently. “Don’t be a child, we did this several times already.”

“Doesn’t mean I liked it!” snapped the demon.

“Well… sorry if my corporation is uncomfortable to you,” declared the angel, a little offended.

“I didn’t say _that_! It’s just that...” Crowley trailed off, trying to find a good reason to complain and not finding any.

Aziraphale pressed his lips in a thin line. “You don’t like it, I got it. Let us just swap, will you.”

 _Oh, great, now he’s angry. Way to go, Crowley_ , thought the demon as they exchanged their corporations.

Aziraphale looked at him, reached out to stretch the tartan bow-tie around the demon’s neck, and nodded firmly. “Good. I can’t sense anything demonic coming from you. Do you think you can imitate me convincingly?”

“Yes. Without contest,” answered Crowley, wisely deciding that _now_ wasn’t the moment to actually perform an imitation of his friend’s fussiness, bad-faithed declarations or pompous speeches. They were doing this to avoid him getting smote, after all. Aziraphale discorporating him would be counter productive.

“I have to change your usual look, though. Netzach believes an unknown demon killed Anatiel, so an unknown demon we will give them...” With a flourish of his hand, Aziraphale changed his hair colour from red to black, then grimaced. “I cannot change the eyes. Is that normal?”

“Of course it’s bloody normal,” hissed Crowley, looking at the yellow eyes in disgust. “If I could get rid of them I would have a long time ago, don’t you think?”

“Why would you?” questioned the angel with a puzzled look. “Your eyes are lovely. But a little too distinctive I’m afraid. I will have to use those new plastic lenses, I guess… I can magically taint them black.” He snapped his fingers and the yellow irises gave way to two pitch dark circles.

Crowley was still struggling with the concept of anyone calling his eyes lovely, and jumped on the occasion for a sarcastic comment. “They were invented last year, angel. How on earth do you know about them?”

A slap on the arm and a pout answered him. “Come on, you ungrateful creature. Time to start the show.”

“This is a bad idea,” whispered Crowley glumly, fighting the urge to remove that damn bow-tie. He was certain Aziraphale had tightened it _just a little too much_ on purpose.

“It’s the best we could think of. Everything is going to be fine. You just have to… do something demonic to lure them here, is all,” answered Aziraphale decidedly.

“I don’t like it. Grace is dangerous,” protested the demon for the hundredth time. That freaking collar was _way_ too tight. And the trousers were too loose, it was unsettling.

Aziraphale tutted. “It would be way more dangerous to you, and you know it. Netzach’s smiting would _kill_ you. I can stand it perfectly well.”

Crowley let out a dubious groan, but the angel’s face had settled into that stubborn frown he knew so well that he could recognise it even in a strange corporation. He shrugged in defeat, sighed, and raised his hand. “Ok. Ready?”

Aziraphale fidgeted with his shabby coat’s cuffs. “Am I… do I look good?” he asked sheepishly.

“You’re very cute, angel. Never been sexier, cross my heart,” assured the demon with a wide grin.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Crowley!” snapped the angel.

His friend stopped smiling and nodded. “You look… demonic enough. Good to go.”

“And you are _sure_ I don’t look too much like you? Maybe I should add something...” the angel trailed off, obviously raking his mind. Crowley shook his head hurriedly.

“Come oooon, angel! You changed my clothes and my hair colour, you put in black lenses, you have boils all over your face, for Satan’s sake! You look nothing like me anymore, and if you really think this is still too close from my usual corporation, I have to say that’s pretty hurtful.”

Aziraphale nodded. “All right, then. I just want to make sure they won’t recognise you. Heaven knows your face, and it would be difficult for me to explain your constant presence on earth if Netzach reported your death.”

Crowley crossed his arms, pouting. “I’m hot. I look _nothing_ like that.”

The angel nodded sagely. “I apologise. Can we go on and get me killed, now?”

Crowley grimaced, snapped his fingers, and the ground shook under their feet. People started to yell. Aziraphale huffed. “An earthquake? _Really_? Could you be more ostentatious?”

“Hey, flashy is _cool_ , and you wanted ostentatious, didn’t you?”

The angel didn’t answer, and grabbed his friend by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Crowley tried not to laugh. This was definitely not a funny situation, but seeing his friend trying to appear ferocious was hilarious, especially with that awful face. The toad was a nice touch. A sound only the two of them could hear resounded not far away. An angel appearing. And what a sight they must make, a filthy demon holding a defenceless Principality into his grasp.

Aziraphale-as-a-demon shook his prey and snarled. “You are no match for me, you pitiful creature!” he yelled in a dramatic fashion. Crowley tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He was supposed to act afraid.

“Aziraphale!” yelled Netzach’s voice behind them. Good. The audience was here. Better put on a good showdown.

“Let go of me, you foul fiend!” cried Crowley in Aziraphale’s voice, squirming in his friend’s grip. The pretend demon threw him, hard, and he landed a few yards away with a cry of pain that was only half faked.

“You will not destroy another angel, you foul beast!” declared Netzach, and Crowley struggled to get on his feet as he watched the Seraph pulling Grace from Heaven, the divine energy building up…

 _It’s more than enough. Stop now, you can kill any demon with that_ , he thought furiously, his concern growing with each passing second. Facing Netzach, Aziraphale tried his best to look demonic and dangerous, and was disturbingly convincing on both counts. He was the perfect target for a good old fashion smiting, but Netzach wanted to show off, it appeared. In a few seconds, there would be enough Grace to hurt even an angel…

Aziraphale seemed to come to the same conclusion. His horrible face scowled, and he cackled devilishly. “You cannot catch me, you stupid prick!” he cried before starting to run.

 _Of course he would run away,_ realised Crowley. _He wants_ _Netzach_ _to smite_ _him_ _as far away from me as possible._

Stupid overprotective angel.

Netzach’s hands shot forward, and Crowley could feel the Grace storming out of them, rushing to hit the running silhouette.

Aziraphale fell with a cry. Instantly, Crowley teleported near him. The angel didn’t move, face down on the ground, his coat fuming. He wanted very much to shake him, ask if he was hurt, but he could hear the Seraph approach behind them, and he had his own part to play.

“There won’t be a body for Hell to find!” he declared loudly, pointing down. For an instant, nothing happened, and he felt his heart clench in his chest. Then, Grace, Aziraphale’s Grace, shot all around the “demonic” body. In a flash of light, it was gone.

“Aziraphale! I wanted to bring the corporation back to Heaven!” snapped Netzach, joining him with a frown.

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry,” assured Crowley, trying his best to imitate his friend’s nervous flutter of hands. “I just… I assumed... since the demon destroyed Anatiel’s body, that we should, you know… an eye for an eye and all that?”

The Seraph looked at him. They tilted their head, and finally nodded in approval. “This is not a bad idea, for once. Maybe we will make something out of you after all, Aziraphale!”

With a large smile, they patted (hit) Crowley’s shoulder, and disappeared.

The demon stood there for a while before realising Netzach had gone back to Heaven without as much as a ‘by your leave’.

 _Fucking bastard_ , he thought, snapping his fingers to teleport to his flat. Aziraphale should already be there.

* * *

Aziraphale was sitting on the couch. He had erased the changes he’d brought to Crowley’s corporation, and was back to the usual black costume, red haired flash bastard look that the demon favoured. Of course the aesthetic was a little ruined by the prim and proper way the angel sat, and by his grimacing face.

“Angel? How are you? Did he hurt you?”

“What? Oh, no, dear boy, I am fine. A little sore, maybe, but nothing dreadful. Did it work?” answered his friend in concern.

“He’s back to Heaven. He looked convinced enough,” assured Crowley.

“Very well. This is… this is good,” declared the angel, fidgeting with his black tie. Crowley cleared his throat and extended his hand.

“Hm. Swap back? Nobody’s looking at us.”

Aziraphale frowned for a second. “What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

They shook hands clumsily, both of them looking away during the switch back, and stood awkwardly facing each other for an excruciating minute.

“I… I should go, now. I have been enough of an imposition already,” declared Aziraphale with a fake smile.

Crowley snapped his fingers to summon a pair of sunglasses and pushed them firmly up his nose to hide his eyes. “Yeah. Of course, angel,” he answered coldly. Then he grimaced and added “Thank you. For the…” he gestured around.

Aziraphale nodded sadly. “Ah, yes, well… it was the least I could do, wasn’t it?”

The demon frowned. He knew that tone. It was the _this is all my fault_ tone. There was absolutely no reason for Aziraphale to use it tonight. “You mean saving my life? Because that’s kind of what you did.”

“Saving your..? I am the one who put you into danger, Crowley!” exclaimed the angel.

“What? Where does _that_ comes from? You saved my ass! Twice!” barked the demon, feeling more and more confused by the second.

Aziraphale tutted. “Oh, do you really have to use that kind of language? And the only reason you needed saving was because I put you in this situation myself! Anatiel was spying on _me_ , not you! _I_ led her to you!”

“You killed her to protect me! It’s my fault if you...” Crowley trailed off and flushed. _Oh, good. Perfect, remind him what he’s done._

“If I… what?” asked the angel calmly. And that tone asked for an honest answer.

“Well… you killed someone. You never killed before,” declared Crowley to his feet. “T’s my fault. You must hate me now. I understand.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, but the demon couldn’t see it, too busy staring at the floor. The angel heaved a long sigh, half exasperation, half relief.

“Of, for God’s sake, Crowley! Is that why you were acting so weird? I thought _you_ hated _me_!”

The demon’s head shot up. “Huh?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t _murder_ Anatiel. She tried to destroy my friend in front of me. She perfectly knew what I was capable of, and she should have remembered I was not the kind to let her destroy someone I cared about. You can’t accuse a bolt of lightning of murder when someone has been stupid enough to climb up a hill during a storm waving an iron poker over their head.”

“Whot?” stammered Crowley, frowning in confusion.

“I am not mad at you, that’s what,” huffed his friend, crossing his arms.

“But… but you still took an awful risk for me! Destroying an angel is treason….”

For the hundredth time, Aziraphale refrained the urge to answer the truth. That talking to a demon was already considered treason, that being caught fraternizing would be enough to have both of them killed. Crowley had a that strange vision of Heaven, always thinking they would forgive almost anything, thinking that if Aziraphale got caught with him someday, he would just earn a slap on the wrist and a _strong worded note_. But the angel didn’t want to destroy this illusion. If his friend ever realised Heaven could be as cold and cruel as Hell, he would cut all ties with him to protect him.

Of course Heaven had to be firm, for the greater good. Compassion was a virtue, but shouldn’t be confused with softness, Gabriel told him so regularly. And softness was bad. Softness meant defeat. Aziraphale was awfully soft, he knew it.

Sighing inwardly, he offered a tense smile to his friend. “It seems that we both have acted a little foolishly. You thinking I was mad, and, well, me thinking the same… why don’t we just forget that regretful incident?”

Crowley blinked. “Well, that seems… wait, I still don’t know why you thought I hated you...”

“Isn’t it obvious? I am the one who suggested we dine together. In plain sight. It was absolutely stupid, and utterly dangerous.”

“Naaaah, it was just bad luck, angel. Won’t happen again,” drawled the demon with his most soothing voice.

Aziraphale’s smile softened. Yes, it wouldn’t. For a start, they would never take such a risk ever again. This had been too close. They would have to use coded words, secured meeting locations… no more eating together, that was for sure.

Better not tell that to his friend right now. They both needed a breather, and he was fairly certain that awful flat concealed some good bottles of wine somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, one more chapter^^  
> Next and last will be entirely in 2020.  
> No more 1947 scenes, my friends!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has to face unsuspected consequences for his actions. Aziraphales calls for reinforcements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the delay! this chapter was hard to write. I already started next one and it's way easier, so, fingers crossed for a fast update^^.  
> OF COURSE I added ANOTHER chapter.  
> I know I should go for the 1/? next time... but the "?" is scaring me. I need a goal, even if I change it every day (which is funny, because IRL goals are scaring me and I like not knowing where I'm going...)

London, 2020.

Netzach exploded. There wasn’t any other word for it, really, and Crowley braced himself against the disagreeable rush of angelic energy. It wasn’t the first time he had discorporated an angel (not Aziraphale. Never Aziraphale) and he knew what to expect.

At least, he thought he knew. But this time was different, he realised in the instant the body disappeared under him, dissolving into divine particles. This time was _wrong_. This wasn’t a mild discomfort that lingered for a minute, this was an excruciating pain, seizing his ethereal body like it never wanted to let go. He was _burning_ like…

_Am I Falling again?_

In the distance, he heard Aziraphale scream. He vaguely wondered if it was out of fear for him. He hoped it was, because if the angel was in trouble, he wouldn’t be able to help this time. He could see humans panicking around him, and dispassionately watched them run away. His eyes were tired so he closed them.

Hands touched him, and he vaguely heard a voice calling his name amidst the ringing and the yelling.

“-ley? Crowley!”

That was his name, right? He knew that voice.

“...Hnng?” answered the demon.

“Do you hear me? Answer me!” The voice seemed anxious, realised Crowley in a haze. It was not good for that voice to sound so worried. It should sit on the ground with him and drink a nice herbal tea to calm down.

“Oh, bother,” grumbled the voice with a sharp edge. There was the sound of fingers snapping, and the humans stopped running and yelling. Another snap, and Crowley was no more kneeling on the floor, but sitting on something comfortable. _Couch_ , provided a little voice from another part of his brain. The smell was different too. He was…

_home?_

The voice was back, softer this time. “Crowley? Look at me, please? Do you hear me?”

“Ngk.”

“It’s me, Aziraphale. You are in the bookshop. Can you talk?”

That poor voice seemed very worried. He didn’t want it to be worried.

“Hm, gwk,” answered Crowley earnestly.

“Well, this will not do,” mumbled the voice angrily. Crowley was fairly certain it wasn’t angry at him. Shaky hands pushed him to the side and gently helped him lie on the soft thing. Hands touched his cheek, his forehead, and Crowley didn’t recoil. These were hands he could trust, he thought.

“Sleep, my dear. Have no worry, I will take care of everything.”

That was good, because Crowley didn’t even know what needed to be taken care of. The voice knew what it was doing.

The demon’s mind sank into oblivion.

* * *

Aziraphale hugged Anathema and shook Newt’s hand gratefully. “Thank you so much, my dears. I am ever so sorry to have you cut your honeymoon short…”

“It’s not important,” lied Newt as his wife made a beeline to the backroom. “It’s just a trip, Aziraphale. Of course we came back. Without Crowley we wouldn’t even _have_ a honeymoon to begin with.”

The young witch turned to them briefly as they joined her. “What happened to him exactly?” she asked, her brow wrinkling with concern as she took in the still form on the couch. She squinted her eyes and gasped.

“Oh, **shit**! What happened to his aura?”

Aziraphale’s voice was sharper than usual when he answered. “He has been hurt by heavenly Grace.”

“Who did this to him?” asked Newt in concern.

“No one. I mean… he discorporated an angel who was trying to smite him… smiting needs to pull Grace down from Heaven and mix it with your own. I imagine Crowley didn’t know that discorporating Netzach at this moment was going to hurt his true form...”

The angel looked up and realised his friends were looking at him like he was speaking a foreign language. He stammered, then tried to think of a good metaphor.

“It is like… shooting a gun when the barrel is jammed?” he finally provided.

“You mean: that angel exploded?” asked Newt.

“Yes. And there are pieces of Grace stuck in his occult body, like shrapnel.”

Anathema nodded seriously. “What can I do to help? Are there plants, or potions that can fight it?”

The angel shrugged helplessly. “Not that I know of. Heaven never had to deal with that kind of damage before, of course, and Hell isn’t known for trying to heal its wounded, so I don’t think any of my usual contacts can help us. Crowley won’t be himself as long as these divine shards are scattered all over him, and I am afraid the damages could become permanent after a while. We have to act quickly, and find a way to cure him. I have books that may contain a solution, but there are so many of them… I could use your help searching into those.”

“ _Hellfire_ ,” said Newt with triumph. “We can use Hellfire! That should destroy the Grace, right?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Oh, no, this wouldn’t be a good idea. Hellfire can destroy Grace, but the, ah, _destroying_ part is quite messy. It may hurt Crowley even more.”

“All right, then. I will try to create a potion or a spell that can help, and Newt will help you in your research. Are these the books?” asked the witch, pointing to the coffee table, covered in ancient tomes.

“Yes. If there is a solution, it is in one of those. Oh, and do not use sage in your potions, my dear. Except for this, any ingredient is welcome. Nothing can make him _worse_ anyway,” answered Aziraphale with a sigh.

* * *

Crowley could hear voices. He didn’t know exactly if he was dreaming or if they were real.

“Are you sure, Aziraphale? It seems a little... useless.”

“Well, it’s been two days and we didn’t find a clue, I’m out of books mentioning demons, angels, Grace or even miracles, none of Anathema’s experiments worked, so unless you have a better idea to propose, I suggest you keep your questions to yourself, Newt!”

The nice voice didn’t seem nice at all this time. It sounded cutting and snappish. Crowley didn’t like that. He wanted to soothe it, but was too tired to open his eyes. An instant later, it talked again, and there was nothing cutting in it this time.

“I am sorry, Newt, I didn’t want to yell at you. You have both been awfully helpful, and here I am, yelling at you for no reason.”

“Hey, it’s all right, Aziraphale. I guess I would want to yell too if I were you. So… you really think it could work? Grace is bad for demons, right? Replacing Grace by… other Grace, it seems… well...”

“It would be useless for anyone else, but I think it has good chances of working. The Grace hurting him is the purest, it had been pulled directly from Heaven and didn’t have the time to become Netzach’s. Angel’s Grace is… well, it’s different for each angel, tainted by their essence. Crowley and I have spent a lot of time around each other. His demonic energy doesn’t hurt me very much now, and he could resist a smiting if it came from me. If I find a way to taint the shards hurting him with my _own_ Grace, and make it mine, in a way, I think he could absorb it and heal.”

Footsteps were closing in, and Crowley felt a hand touching his. He drifted back into oblivion.

* * *

  
  


“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” asked the witch while Newt placed their suitcases in the car’s trunk.

“Certain, my dear. It could be dangerous for humans. Thank you again for your help.”

“All right. We will continue our research while you’re trying that. I have other books at the cottage, old witchcraft ones. Maybe there will be something useful in one of them. Don’t worry, everything will be fine in the end,” she promised with a comforting hug. Newt joined them, hugged the angel too, and they all exchanged false hopeful smiles.

Aziraphale waved as Dick Turpin drove away, and sent a miracle for the car to get back to Tadfield without trouble.

When the little blue car turned the corner, the angel’s smile disappeared, giving way to cold resolution.

He knew it was a long shot. Replacing Heaven’s Grace with his own wouldn’t change a thing, in theory. On any other demon, it would hurt just the same. But this was _Crowley_ , they were _used_ to each other. Crowley could stand Aziraphale’s Grace, they’d done it before.

The question was: was it possible to turn Heaven’s Grace into his own outside of himself? And if that answer was yes, how much time and energy would it require to change all of it? Crowley was fading away a little more every day, and Aziraphale didn’t know how long he had left.

He had lied about it being dangerous to humans. He hated to lie, but there was no way he would let his dear friends stay to watch this. There were only three outcome to this particular snitch: If it didn’t work, Crowley would die. If it worked, but Aziraphale didn’t have enough energy to succeed, then they would both die, because once he would start healing his friend, Aziraphale would certainly not stop for something as trivial as his own health.

He was counting on the third outcome. The first two were inconceivable.

* * *

Crowley ached _everywhere_. It was like every part of his body had the worst hangover of his life. He tried to open his eyes, but the light only made the pain even worse. Between the slight crack of his eyelids, he could see something dancing, something brilliant and…

 _Fire._ The bookshop, in flames. And that sensation of loss. Emptiness, something missing in the world, a presence that was always there. _Fire._

With a gasp, he jolted forward, sitting up brusquely. There was a _thump_ next to him, but he didn’t pay attention to it. There was fire, and…

He blinked, looking at the fireplace. He was in a room, on a couch… This was a domestic fire, nothing to do with the wild beast that had devoured the… the what? It was a person, he was almost sure of it. There had been _someone_ , and books, and the fire had taken them...

With a groan, he buried his face in his hands, trying to remember. Something shuffled next to him. He lowered his hands and looked...

Well that explained the _thump_. There was someone on the floor, trying groggily to sit up. White hair, tartan bow-tie, soft eyes. Wait. He knew that face. Their eyes met and the stranger _beamed_.

He knew that smile too.

“Crowley! You are awake!”

Yep, that was his name. He nodded, blinking slowly, the movement awakening the pain anew. He hissed slightly.

The other immediately stood up, wobbling a little, and pushed him back softly until his head rested on the couch again.

“Now, now, my dear, you shouldn’t move. You are still very weak.”

Crowley could feel the tiredness coming back, rushing towards him again. He fought the urge to close his eyes. He couldn’t let go, not now, something was wrong. He knew that person, he was certain of it. He should remember him. Somehow it seemed awfully wrong to remember his own name and not…

“Who are you? I _know_ you. I know you, right?” he saw the other’s smile falter and sadness crossed these blue eyes. Crowley suddenly felt terribly afraid of his answer. What if the man told him no? What if he was a stranger? It would be horrible.

“Oh, my dear… yes, you know me. We have been friends for a very long time,” said the angel.

 _Angel_? Why did he think of that word? He frowned again, staring at that strange, familiar face. There was something, he felt it, something huge just out of his reach, if only he could remember one tiny…

A cool hand suddenly blinded him, settling on his eyelids. Crowley tensed, and reached out to grab the wrist to remove it, but the other’s voice stopped him.

“Crowley, my dear, do not think. You are still very weak, and you need more time. It is normal to feel strange. You are… incomplete, still. But you will get better. Trust me, dear boy. You only need more rest.”

Crowley knew he should feel afraid. Incomplete, yes, that was exactly the feeling he was experiencing. He was missing parts of himself, it was _wrong_. But that voice was so certain, and he could trust it. He could trust that… man, angel, whatever, he didn’t even know. He didn’t know a thing, except that he _could_ trust him.

His grip loosened a bit, but he didn’t let go of the other’s arm. Apparently, it was enough for him to understand.

“I am not going anywhere. I will watch over you. Rest, Crowley. Just let it all come back on its own. Everything will be fine very soon, I promise you.”

Well then… if that was a promise…

With difficulty, Crowley tried to stop asking himself questions, tried to let go. It was _not_ easy. He had lots of questions, and as he tried to push one away, five more seemed to appear. The hand removed itself from his face, and he fought the urge to open his eyes to check if his… friend, was still there.

 _He promised he w_ _ould_ _stay_.

He heard footsteps, and the sound of a chair being pulled next to him, then the familiar rustle of a page turning.

“How about an Agatha Christie? Thirteen stories? You do love Miss Marple...”

The soft voice started to read out loud. Crowley stopped questioning and focussed on the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the final chapter! FOR REAL!  
> Oh, and there will be some BAMF Aziraphale. because, you know. Can't have too much BAMF Aziraphale...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes care of Crowley... and of Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I posted the last chapter WITHOUT adding another one^^

Aziraphale read out loud until the end of the first story, then looked closely at his friend’s peaceful face. Crowley was fast asleep, he realised with relief. He touched the demon’s hand, checking on his aura as discretely as possible, not wanting to wake him up.

Yes, the Grace’s presence was weaker. It was slowly disappearing, or maybe changing to become part of Crowley’s own occult energy. Either way, the demon was getting better. It had worked. His own Grace didn’t consider Crowley a threat, and wouldn’t hurt him. It was good to be right, sometimes, thought Aziraphale smugly.

He smiled, eyes closed, addressed a grateful prayer to the Almighty, and sighed heavily, his head tilting backward in exhaustion. He still had power left, but could use some rest himself after this dreadful week.

Not yet, though. This had been too close a call, and Netzach wouldn’t stop that easily. Aziraphale had a visit to pay to Heaven.

He snapped his fingers to conjure Crowley’s phone into his hand, and searched for a certain number. He knew his friend had saved it somewhere after Armageddon. The number was on the file he’d signed, that night, on a bench in Tadfield.

Yes, here it was.

He pressed “call”.

“Hello? I need to retrieve a certain object.”

* * *

There was a gasp from the lobby’s counter as Aziraphale stepped out of the moving stairs. He kept a carefully neutral expression as he walked straight ahead, without sparing a glance at the angel on arrival duty.

“Sir! You cannot… wait!”

But Aziraphale was walking so fast the other had to run to catch up.

“Wait! P… Principality Aziraphale!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, and turned sharply on his heels to face the younger angel, who took a step back.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I… I must… I mean, you didn’t signed in… sir.”

All these “sirs” were both unnerving and exhilarating. There were only names in Heaven. Even an Archangel was called by their name only. Aziraphale wasn’t used to this, but he decided there and then that it was most welcome. It meant wariness. It may even mean fear. Good.

“I do not work here anymore. I have nothing to sign in for.”

He waited five more seconds, just enough for the young angel to think of making him sign for a visitor badge, look down nervously at the object in the Principality’s hand, and decide not to take that risk. Then, with a sharp nod and an inward smile, Aziraphale walked away.

He knew perfectly where to go.

* * *

Crowley sat up slowly, stretched with a grimace at the diffuse pain in his limbs. He was feeling… less awful. He looked around, taking in the fireplace, the little sink in the corner and the armchair.

That was _Aziraphale’s_ armchair. But there was no angel sitting there. Nor on the chair besides his couch.

He should check… somewhere... for a message. They did this, right? Leaving messages when they had to go out.

Go out… He _lived_ here! He lived in the bookshop! This was the angel’s bookshop, and they were friends, and… wait? He was a _demon_ , and Aziraphale was an _angel..._ Why would an angel befriend him? And wasn’t it dangerous? What if Hell saw them talk together?

He shook his head. It didn’t help, his mind seemed even more blurry than before. He was fairly certain he wasn’t Hell’s employee of the month, though. Pretty sure they were angry with him, so they had to know about the friendship already.

But how did they become friends in the first place? The demon frowned, trying to grasp at fragments of memories. Rain. Car. Fire. Cheese in a tent. Car again. Crepes with honey. Shivering plants. What was that? Rice with raw fish? Couldn’t be good. And why did he have so many memories about bloody _food_?

Then another recollection, much more clear and strong than any other. The angel’s voice. _Do not think. Let it all come back on its own._

He grimaced and turned to put his feet on the floor. He needed to… go somewhere, find the angel. Maybe he was in the kitchen.

He barely moved before his eyes finally landed on the coffee table. There was a large sheet of paper on it, and a steaming mug on top, trapping it there.

He took the mug and started drinking without thinking about it, reading the note on the paper. It had been writen by the angel, of that Crowley was sure. No one could forge that neat, copperplate handwriting.

_I will be back soon. DO NOT GET UP!_

“Bossy,” he murmured, suppressing a smile before lying back down. He was still feeling pretty weak, and tired. He _wanted_ to stay on the couch. It was _his_ decision. Maybe with a little more sleep his memories would come back, hopefully in good order. Sleeping could never hurt anyway.

* * *

“Aziraphale!” yelled Raphael, entering Creation Room number 42. “What are you doing? Stop this instant!”

The Principality turned to her, lowered his flaming sword, and smiled sweetly. “Oh, hello, my dear. How are you faring?”

“How am I..?” stammered the Archangel. “You _destroyed_ them! Do you have any idea how long it took to-”

“I assure you, Raphael, I am perfectly aware of the time needed to create a functional corporation,” answered Aziraphale, his voice still amiable. “What I do not know, on the other end, is why you provided one for an operative whose mission was to destroy my friend.”

Raphael squinted her eyes, clearly confused. “What?”

“Netzach tried to kill Crowley, Raphael. Why were they on Earth? Only the Principalities and Archangel have a permanent executive corporation. Why did they have access to one? What was their purpose? And I am warning you, if it was indeed to destroy Crowley, I shall be very cross with you.”

“No, they asked to be part of the survey team, that’s all! they told me a demon attacked and discorporated them. Why did Crowley do that?”

Aziraphale’s eyes blazed with Holy Fire.

“He did absolutely nothing! Netzach attacked him, and Crowley only defended himself!”

“Why would Netzach do that, Aziraphale? It doesn’t make any sense!”

The angel sighed, then watched her coldly.

“Gabriel asked them to destroy the demon responsible for Anatiel’s death.”

Raphael remembered that. Vividly. Angel’s deaths were rare enough to leave a mark, and Anatiel was someone difficult to forget. Her destruction hadn’t been a great surprise. She was a demon hunter, and took pleasure in killing, something that earned her both Gabriel’s trust and Raphael’s contempt. The most startling information was that Crowley was the one to destroy her. That demon never had been the bloodthirsty type. Anatiel was probably trying to hunt him when it happened.

“Oh. So that was _Crowley_. I see… I thought it had been taken care of a long time ago.”

“Well it wasn’t. She tried to destroy him back then, and Netzach did the same now. I am warning you, Raphael: we aren’t part of this little game anymore. The war between Heaven and Hell isn’t our concern. I told you already, and I will tell you again one last time: we are on Humanity’s side. I will not try to discorporate innocent demons visiting Earth, and Crowley will never confront an angel surveying it. But if any of them attack one of us, we will strike back.”

He looked around, raised his sword again and swiftly disintegrated the two last corporations hanging against the wall before nodding sharply, satisfied, and looking back at the Archangel.

“Control your angels, Raphael. Netzach has been lucky this time, Crowley only discorporated them. If anyone tries to touch my family again, I won’t be that merciful. I swear to God that if another angel tries to hurt Crowley, I will destroy them. And stop giving corporations to _imbeciles_! We both know Netzach and Anatiel hated each other, they were rivals to become Gabriel’s favourite hunting dog. The only thing they loves is killing, and you gave them access to Earth! Humans could have died! I’m sure you don’t care about Crowley, but I thought you cared at least about _them_.”

He walked to the door and stopped in front of her, waiting. She took a step aside to let him out, and watched him walk away towards the stairway.

“Oh, perfect,” she snapped, looking at the empty, scorched room. It would take _months_ to recreate all that. And now the only corporations available were hers and these of the two angels actually on mission on Earth.

Well, there was also Aziraphale’s, but she had the feeling _that_ angel wouldn’t want to lend a hand for a while, now. What was that stupid Seraph _thinking_ , attacking one of the two entities that had stopped the Apocalypse? She had ordered the Host to leave Aziraphale alone. Apparently she hadn’t been clear enough. She huffed and snapped her fingers. An angel appeared near her, pen and notebook in hand.

“You called me, Raphael?” he asked, not even raising an eyebrow at the mess around them.

“Yes, Ashtaron. Summon all the Host, I have an announcement to make.”

“Again? My, I wonder why...” murmured the other, just loud enough for her to hear him.

“You know perfectly why, I am sure. Did you listen to us?”

“Me? Listening to an Archangel’s private conversation while I’m on security duty? Of course not!” exclaimed the younger angel with wide, innocent eyes.

“Good. Keep it that way. I want them all in the conference room in two hours.”

“Very well. Oh, and shall I send Netzach to your office before that?” he added as if by second thought.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you shall.”

“Consider it done!” chirped Ashtaron before disappearing.

* * *

The doorbell rang, and Crowley tilted his head.

“Angel? Is that you?”

“Yes, my dear,” answered the familiar voice. Aziraphale stepped into the backroom and smiled at him.

“You look way better, dear boy.”

“I _feel_ way better. Still a little blurry, but I know who I am. Where were you?”

The angel smiled sweetly. “Nowhere really important. I will tell you later. For now, we will focus on you getting better. I tried to gather information about memory loss in human’s books. Of course your predicament isn’t human, and you will remember everything eventually, but I think trying to ease your recovery can’t hurt. They say familiar activities are good, so I… well, I think watching these Bond movies you like so much may be helpful.”

“Bond movies? Really, angel? Cause I remember you hate those. First memory I got back,” drawled the demon with a grin.

Aziraphale huffed. “I am ready to suffer for your sake.”

Crowley chuckled. “Self-sacrifice… that’s very angelic of you, Aziraphale.”

The angel shook his head with a fond smile and snapped his fingers to conjure the television from the loft. The movie started playing, and Crowley’s sarcastic smile turned into something soft and genuine.

The angel was feeling a little guilty for hiding his trip to Heaven from his friend, but he wanted to wait for Crowley to get better before addressing the subject. The demon wouldn’t be happy. He hated the thought of Aziraphale back in Heaven, but this time the visit was needed. He had to make his point clear.

He sighed inwardly, preparing himself for two hours of explosions, backstabbing ladies, and deus ex machina. A little scrap of paper, pined to the wall, caught his eyes. On it were two names. Two of his old platoon’s men.

He didn’t see them today. He regretted it a little.

A series of gunshots drew his attention back on the television.

One hour later, an angel was reading a novel on the couch, a snake curled around his neck, deeply asleep.

On the screen, completely unnoticed, James Bond jumped out of a plane without a parachute. He seemed a little disappointed by his audience’s lack of enthusiasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read "Divine retribution", yes, Ashtaron is one of Aziraphale's two faithful men in his platoon. :)


End file.
